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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369981">Seven Deadly Sins: SBI&amp;Co</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootforbrains/pseuds/sootforbrains'>sootforbrains</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SMPLive</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Minecraft, Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:42:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,487</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootforbrains/pseuds/sootforbrains</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A Seven Deadly Sins AU for the boys. All info + backstories + little interactions here and there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>196</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Sins and Their Soil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>PRIDE: TECHNOBLADE<br/>
~an excessive belief in one's own abilities that interferes with the individual's recognition of the grace of God.</p><p>Deities blossom in confidence as slick as oil,<br/>
and skies smile upon heroes whose deeds have been<br/>
savored by gods.<br/>
And his confidence was not slick,<br/>
but ragged with sharp edges,<br/>
deadly like the point of his sword,<br/>
and brittle like the flaking of the befallen.<br/>
His reign was that of nails<br/>
driven deep into the dirt;<br/>
the soil lodged under eyelids<br/>
during massacres and skirts.<br/>
And should his crown ever fall,<br/>
it would land in that puddle of<br/>
pride.<br/>
It lay now at his feet,<br/>
a golden so frail it seemed to bleed,<br/>
and he, beside it, a deity no more;<br/>
under a cracked and faded dawn.</p><p>-</p><p>Is it strange, to find pride in being a murderer? Perhaps the pride that Techno has found is misplaced somewhat, but he's found it nonetheless, and it has quickly blossomed into something sinister. His cockiness is something that can overreach, even more so than his tendency to slaughter. He's deemed himself the "protector" of the others, a crime-fighter in his own right, bringing down whoever he considers a threat with frightening ease and skill. He is especially protective of Tommy and Tubbo; and if you look closely enough, you should be able to find a decent guy under that mess of pink hair--if you can overlook all of the other stuff, that is.</p><p> </p><p>ENVY: MINX<br/>
~the excessive yearning for others' traits, statuses, and abilities.</p><p>Surfaces of souls are meant to be tended,<br/>
to be stroked and prodded with<br/>
utmost care;<br/>
and yet hers is yearning with an itch<br/>
she is never able to scratch.<br/>
She's gone green with her flaking lips,<br/>
her temporary delights and her<br/>
pretend satisfaction.<br/>
The tips of her nails have chipped<br/>
from always reaching, always<br/>
brushing themselves against<br/>
the skin of desire.<br/>
And those who befall upon her beauty,<br/>
query against her strife;<br/>
for her necessity to crave others' pleasures,<br/>
to wrap herself in their skin,<br/>
is a lifeline within itself,<br/>
an addiction never worth relinquishing.</p><p>-</p><p>While she can be tediously needy and at times a relentless gossip, Minx is also, surprisingly, one of the most kindhearted of the bunch. Most of the time she finds herself almost giddy at the thought of material items--and because of this, even the most trivial things are able to make her smile. She considers herself the glue to the others, as she is able to dismantle escalating situations (mostly between Techno and Schlatt) fairly effectively; mostly due to the fact that she knows quite literally everything about everyone in an attempt to merge these details with her own life. However, her fuse is quite short, and if provoked, her mood can quickly shift from cheerful to ferocious.</p><p> </p><p>GLUTTONY: TUBBO<br/>
~the inordinate desire to consume more than what is initially offered.</p><p>An accessory to widened eyes are the<br/>
blossoming pills which sit in one's stomach;<br/>
and there are pills he swallowed<br/>
with fervor,<br/>
hoping desperately they'd last him.<br/>
His options were scattered but plentiful;<br/>
and he'd seized them all with ease.<br/>
Yet his soul, it ached for more,<br/>
when there was no more to offer;<br/>
and so he began to search,<br/>
to dig with the knife of a<br/>
wild man's sanity.<br/>
His hunger beckoned,<br/>
for what he'd gotten was<br/>
never pleasing, no matter the<br/>
splitting of his knuckles as he dug.<br/>
Numbness was a companion as<br/>
once friendly eyes went stale at his<br/>
endlessly yearning starvation.</p><p>-</p><p>Despite the connotation of his Sin title, Tubbo is quite small, a bit of a nuisance in size when it comes to friendly surprises. He is quite crafty, alluring and smart. He is typically a faucet of information for anyone who should wonder about anything and everything--but he is a bit of a hoarder, often stealing things from the other Sins, his bedroom cluttered and filled with things he's pocketed from other people. He and Tommy are practically joined at the hip, often working in tandem and getting into trouble together. His "innocent" persona can be dangerous, as it is often misleading. He's also an amazing cook.</p><p> </p><p>GREED: TOMMY<br/>
~the desire for material wealth or gain, ignoring the realm of the spiritual.</p><p>And they told him youth was a bringer<br/>
of curses disguised as blessings,<br/>
but all he'd seen was the fortune<br/>
of the lucky,<br/>
the infectious nature of his own youth.<br/>
He never saw the illness which spread<br/>
like wildfire through his veins<br/>
as he continued to grab at stars<br/>
with clenched fists.<br/>
He never felt the poison which slipped<br/>
through his lips as his collection<br/>
of stars grew, a collection<br/>
that was never big enough,<br/>
never as bright as they were in<br/>
the night sky.<br/>
He considered his stars a friend,<br/>
a confidant, a brightness<br/>
in which he could hide.<br/>
But clenched fists never unclench,<br/>
and fortunate youth never lasts<br/>
long.</p><p>-</p><p>As the youngest of the Sins, Tommy is typically the most energetic--however, he is far from being the most innocent. He is just short of being wholly obsessed with Internet fame and fortune; a success that, even at the ripe age of 16, he's keen on obtaining. He's hardworking, but can become so wrapped up in this vision of his that he becomes moody, and refuses to see anything other than his goals. He and Tubbo are practically inseparable, always getting each other into unnecessary troubles. He is quite the handful to be around--practically drinks nothing but coffee, and therefore tends to bounce off the walls--but he is a sweetheart; but he can become dangerous when his desires are messed with.</p><p> </p><p>LUST: WILBUR<br/>
~an excessive and unhealthy yearning for love and affection.</p><p>His fingers have always brushed against<br/>
the wood of his bedpost<br/>
whenever he searches for his<br/>
missing pieces.<br/>
They wander their rounds,<br/>
running their circles,<br/>
yet they never land upon anything<br/>
but the arches between<br/>
pretty shoulderblades.<br/>
And the more he fed his want,<br/>
the fast his soul curled in<br/>
upon itself;<br/>
for he was riddled with glossy lips,<br/>
wandering hands in<br/>
hotel sheets and<br/>
whispered nothings across<br/>
expanses of purchased darkness.<br/>
But when morning arrives in full,<br/>
the sheets are always empty.<br/>
And he runs his fingers over<br/>
the bedposts once again.</p><p>-</p><p>An overly emotional wreck, Wilbur's only crutch is his hopelessly indulgent love life. Despite the family he holds with the other Sins, he is obsessed with finding someone who will replenish that aching hole within him--and more often than not, he comes up empty. However, he is the most sensitive of the Sins, and likes to play guitar for Minx and Tommy when they're feeling down. He also has a tendency to disappear at night, roaming street after street in search of something unreachable. He is spacey, and sometimes doesn't realize how harmful his actions can be; but, overall, he's a lighthearted soul.</p><p> </p><p>SLOTH: PHILZA<br/>
~the avoidance of physical or spiritual work.</p><p>The loss of passion<br/>
and the snuffing of a flame<br/>
have plagued him since the beginning.<br/>
The shifting of dreams<br/>
beneath his lidded eyes have<br/>
never been able to escape;<br/>
trapped beneath his head<br/>
and that quelling of lessened effort.<br/>
Dreams which haunt him,<br/>
taunting him with their arisal,<br/>
and yet his prison lies not<br/>
behind bars, but within skin.<br/>
For that darkness that is<br/>
effortlessly present<br/>
at the edges of his vision<br/>
will never relinquish its hold<br/>
on his fragile demeanor,<br/>
and it will never allow him to rise<br/>
again.</p><p>-</p><p>Being the oldest of the Sins, Phil finds himself in a sort of fatherly position over the rest of them. He finds himself more often than not looking after the rest of them in less violent ways than Techno. However, he is constantly tired, almost never getting enough sleep, and has an uncanny inability to finish any project he starts. He is a dreamer, but not an achiever, and this is sometimes a hindrance to the rest of the Sins. However, when he does have the motivation, he tends to leave little gifts around the house for each of them, and likes to consider himself responsible for all of them--and you guessed it, especially Tommy.</p><p> </p><p>WRATH: SCHLATT<br/>
~manifested in the individual who spurns love and opts instead for fury.</p><p>Those who give themselves up<br/>
to love<br/>
often find that it is far more<br/>
jagged and sharp than it is warm.<br/>
And those who leave it often find<br/>
comfort in the darkness left behind.<br/>
He's scooped out his heart and<br/>
replaced it with something<br/>
less jagged<br/>
and far more simple.<br/>
A hotness that finds itself in<br/>
his words and lies beneath<br/>
his chest with a burdening ease.<br/>
His fury is loyal, a lapdog of horrid lashings.<br/>
It is the simplest poison of them all;<br/>
a replacement for the complexity<br/>
of emotion, and a careless knot<br/>
around the pieces of his<br/>
shattered soul.</p><p>-</p><p>With a fuse as short as a toothpick, it doesn't take much to send Schlatt into a fit of fury. His temper is as sharp as his horns, and his tone is usually as biting as his quips. However, underneath all of that anger hides a softer soul, one that is afraid of caring too deeply. He has a soft spot for Wilbur, often allowing Wilbur to hide in his bedroom after a night of wandering to avoid a scolding from Phil. Schlatt is also frightfully cunning--though not as fearless as Techno--and often finds himself playing merciless pranks on regular people, and sometimes other Sins. He is, quite possibly, the most hated Sin at any given time--but in those rare moments that he reveals himself to be genuine, he is a sweetheart, and fiercely protective of his friends.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Pride and the Origin of Sin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Has anyone ever told you that someday, your luck is gonna run out?"</p>
<p>Techno shifted, his feet perched at the edge of the concrete ring. Around him, the crowd surged, proclaiming their allegiance to the upcoming brawl, their excitement almost tangible. At his hip, Techno's sword hung like a separate deity, a being simply waiting for him to wield it. It was riveting, this energy around him; he drank it in, gazing around at the gathered, feeling their pulse, their desperation.</p>
<p>Their pride.</p>
<p>Beside him, the woman who had spoken to him was nearly breathing in his ear, her voice made silky by alcohol. She was one of the betters, one of the many who were willing to place their cash upon his skill. He could feel her own excitement about the match bubbling within her as she spoke to him, the complexity laced in her phrases like fine wire. But above everything else, he could feel--no, he could SEE--her pride.</p>
<p>She was proud of her money; the dress she wore tonight was of expensive material, a pricey, sequiney thing that wrapped around her snugly. She was proud of where she came from; but she was also proud of her uncanny ability to blend in with the noxious crowd here, the poisonous bums that tended to do things like bet on sword fights. And she was proud of her ability to--usually--bet on the winner. </p>
<p>He could feel it splinter and rise within her the closer she got to him. He secretly loved the ruinous effects he had on the people who simply tended to get too close.</p>
<p>"I have been told that, actually," he said to her, responding to her clipped question easily. He was used to even his most ambitious betters having doubts about his abilities. "Many times."</p>
<p>"Oh." The woman grinned; it was wide and full of itself. "Well, then. Perhaps you'll be able to prove us all wrong tonight."</p>
<p>Across from him, his opponent stepped forward, toward him. The man's face was obscured by a white mask, nothing but two dots and curved lips painted upon plastic. A smiley face. It was an asinine getup, in Techno's opinion. Almost as childish as the paper crown which rested currently in his own mess of pink hair.</p>
<p>Techno threw one last, fleeting glance at the woman. Giddiness alighted in her eyes as she watched him, waiting for him to step forward and meet his opponent. "I think you're well aware that I'm going to prove you wrong tonight, yeah?"</p>
<p>She smiled, knowingly. "Just make it interesting."</p>
<p>"Fighters, step into the ring." The disembodied voice was familiar--rolling and deep, a staple in all of the street fights Techno participated in. And it was always disembodied; another representative of anonymity, for everyone here preferred to keep their true identities concealed. These types of sheet fights--the ones involved with swords and sparring--were dangerously illegal. Anonymity was key.</p>
<p>But not for Techno.</p>
<p>As he stepped out into the ring, the crowd around him surged, knocking themselves together, roaring their approval. Every single one of them knew who he was. They knew what he could do. He let himself grin, basking in it. For HE knew what he could do. </p>
<p>"Face your opponent."</p>
<p>Techno turned and found himself face-to-face with the masked man. The phony smiley face seemed to taunt him. Techno smiled back.</p>
<p>"You're not going to be able to see very well in that thing, don't you think?" Techno let his tone go soft, an almost whisper. "I'll go easy on you if you'd like. I'm never one for an unfair fight."</p>
<p>"I can see just fine," came the response, clipped and hostile. Techno's smile widened; it didn't take much to amuse him.</p>
<p>"Opponents, take your starting positions."</p>
<p>The two stepped back and away from each other. Techno unsheathed his sword, bringing it out so that it gleamed blue in the poor light, the bulbs flickering overhead. The man did the same; his sword was just as magnificent, equally as sharp. They would be an even match, indeed.</p>
<p>Or so the betters said. Nobody was an even match for Techno.</p>
<p>Techno could feel his opponent's emotions boiling inside of him. Determination, mixed with a bit of mismatched pride. Pride placed there by Techno himself. It was a quiet strategy, but oh, how it was effective.</p>
<p>There was nothing as powerful in bringing about someone's downfall as the overconfidence in one's abilities.</p>
<p>"3, 2, 1..."</p>
<p>Techno threw his opponent a wink.</p>
<p>"...FIGHT."</p>
<p>Techno let the other man launch himself forward, swinging and jabbing his sword forward. Techno easily dodged, bring around his own sword toward the man's neck. The man, experienced, blocked it expertly; the sound of clanging metal filled the room. The crowd went wild. </p>
<p>Techno pulled away, as did the man. They stared at each other for a moment, each comprehending, each calculating. Techno could hear the man's heartbeat in his own ears, could feel the frustration bubbling inside of him.</p>
<p>They launched toward each other again, their swords clashing. The noise of the audience filled Techno's ears. It drove him onward, their adoration fueling him. With each clash of the sword, each grunt from the other man, Techno felt exhilarated. </p>
<p>He let the fight go on for a few more minutes, before finally lunging forward, using his sword to push the man backward. The man, stumbling and knocked off-balance, fell and landed on his back, throwing up his sword in a futile attempt to deflect what was eventually coming. Techno leaped forward and knocked the man's sword sideways; it went skittering across the concrete, almost tumbling into the crowd. Techno pointed his own blade at the man's neck. </p>
<p>And he grinned.</p>
<p>"Cease!" came the disembodied voice; and the crowd went wild. </p>
<p>Techno glanced up, a smile spreading slowly across his lips as they roared at him, shouting his name. </p>
<p>This was what he lived for. </p>
<p>As he gazed out upon his adorers--in their loyal forms, their submissive and raging fanaticism--his eye caught upon a form towards the back of the crowd. A tall and imposing thing, lurking at the edge of the onlookers. This man wasn't cheering. His face was stony, almost passive.</p>
<p>And--Techno wasn't quite sure, for the lighting was horrendously poor--there seemed to be two horns spiraling out of the sides of the man's head, coming forward to wrap around his ears like a ram's. </p>
<p>"Give it up for our winner!" The disembodied announcer continued, and as Techno blinked, the man was turning away, walking briskly through the crowd towards the exit. Now, the horns were as clear as day. </p>
<p>Techno's gut tightened.</p>
<p>Wasting no time, he moved away from his fallen opponent (who was already slowly rising to his feet, astounded at the fact that he'd been beaten), sheathing his sword and hopping into the crowd. They parted for him like the red sea, then re-gathering, all shouting their congratulations, their roaring praises for him. His heart swelled at it--but there were more pressing matters at hand.</p>
<p>Reaching the exit, he quickly pushed his way out into the brisk night, emerging into a dilapidated alleyway. He took a deep breath, appreciating the clean air after the murkiness of the fighter's ring room, as it was essentially a hole-in-the-wall establishment located in the absolute poorest part of town. As was necessary with illegal activities. </p>
<p>To Techno's right, the man was leaning against the brick wall, regarding Techno with a glint in his eyes, hands shoved into the pockets of his pristine business suit.</p>
<p>The man smiled. "Technoblade."</p>
<p>Techno shifted, not knowing how to respond. He'd only heard of this man through the grapevine, had only known of his existence through the occasional news story which detailed murders committed in blind rages. He'd only seen the man present through those instances where fights broke out between couples in restaurants, and where children threw fits for their parents when something didn't go their way. </p>
<p>Yes, Techno knew this man. But they'd never formally come across each other. </p>
<p>He grinned. "Nice to finally meet you, Schlatt."</p>
<p>Schlatt extended his hand; Techno shook it once, firmly. It was strange, finally meeting one of the other Sins. Almost surreal, after decades of working alone. </p>
<p>"What a fight," Schlatt said, retracting his hand and crossing his arms. His stature was very much composed, considering the nature of his Sin. "You really are something with a sword, huh?"</p>
<p>Techno nodded; modesty was an unnecessary thing. "I'm aware. I'm glad you enjoyed it."</p>
<p>Schlatt smiled. "Well, there's a relief. I was scared I had the wrong Sin for a second."</p>
<p>"You seem pretty calm, for...." Techno trailed off, searching for the right phrase.</p>
<p>"For the things I represent? Please." Schlatt scoffed lightly, and within it, Techno could sense the hostility within him, the bubbling storm lying just beneath the feigned calm. "I have my moments." He paused for a second. "I like your crown."</p>
<p>"Thanks." Techno reached up a hand to adjust it; for it had gotten knocked askew during the fight.</p>
<p>The two stood in silence for a moment, listening to the commotion inside of the fight arena, as betters collected their money. Techno found himself considering Schlatt, wondering--as he often did--what in the world had led him to this moment. Once upon a time, he'd been very similar to those people inside, just another part of the crowd, searching desperately for a stage he could walk on, for somewhere to show off. Once upon a time, he hadn't been corrupted by his own pride. He'd been just another guy, in just another town. </p>
<p>He wondered what Schlatt had been, in his past life. </p>
<p>It didn't matter now.</p>
<p>"I've got a proposal for you, Mr. Blade," said Schlatt, suddenly breaking the heavy silence that had befallen them.</p>
<p>"Don't call me that," Techno said quickly, wrinkling his nose at the stupidity of the nickname.</p>
<p>But Schlatt merely grinned and continued. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired of workin' alone. Gets exhausting, you know? All this corruption and no one to turn to when you get home?" He pouted; Techno didn't react. He was still becoming accustomed to Schlatt's way of speaking, the constant inside jokes with himself, the hidden cruelty of his words. </p>
<p>"Anyways, I got to thinkin', and I thought, how's about we band together?" Schlatt spread his arms out, away, gesturing vaguely.</p>
<p>"You and me?" Techno resisted the urge to scoff. </p>
<p>"No, no, not just you and me." Schlatt shook his head. "ALL of us."</p>
<p>Techno took a moment to process what Schlatt was trying to ask of him. "You mean...?"</p>
<p>Schlatt nodded. "Yup. All seven of us, working as a team."</p>
<p>"But that's....that's...." Techno stopped. Utterly embarrassed at his inability to speak correctly, he straightened himself up and tried to consider what that would mean. All seven Sins, together.</p>
<p>He could hardly imagine the chaos that would entail.</p>
<p>"Have you...tried to reach out to any of them?" Techno trod carefully. He himself had never even met any of the other Sins, and it was strange to think that Schlatt had.</p>
<p>But to his surprise, Schlatt scoffed. "Oh, God, no. I don't even know where any of them are. Took me months to find you." </p>
<p>Techno let himself smile at the prospect of someone dedicating their time to finding him. Then, he said, "Then how do you know they'll all be on board?"</p>
<p>"I don't. It's a shot in the dark, completely." Schlatt shrugged. "But can I let you in on a little secret, Techno?" He paused; Techno stepped forward, interest piqued. "I'm tired of working alone. I'm tired of turning people against each other and having no one to congratulate me for it." He smiled vaguely, teeth sharp and white in the night. </p>
<p>And if Techno was being honest, he found himself feeling the same way. It was lonely, this life of his; and most days, he was perfectly content with himself. But on those rare off days--on those days where he found himself retreating back to his small apartment after a fight, hoping just once, someone would congratulate him and really, truly mean it--he felt the loneliness as if it were a burden to be carried. </p>
<p>So he stepped forward and held out his hand. "I'm with you," he said.</p>
<p>Schlatt smiled. "I knew you would be."</p>
<p>And they shook on it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Lust and the Origin of Loneliness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night loomed above him like a blanket.</p>
<p>Wilbur let his legs dangle off of the edge of the fire escape, leaning his head against the safety railing. He watched as cars passed slowly twenty feet below, shimmering red lights glowing in the familiar urban sea of darkness and black asphalt. Beside him, the smoke from the girl's cigarette trailed lazily upward, curling itself into the air and creating obscure shapes as the night wore on, the city sleepless and kindling.</p>
<p>"Wilbur." She moved closer to him, letting her chin rest upon his shoulder, burying it in his knitted sweater. "What are you thinking about?"</p>
<p>The truth was he was thinking about how he had seriously considered jumping off of this fire escape and leaving her be. She wasn't the one. She would never be the one.</p>
<p>They never were the one.</p>
<p>But he simply grunted, and said, "Nothing, really, doll."</p>
<p>"That's not true." She sighed, a sad sound, and removed her chin from his shoulder.</p>
<p>He could feel her heart expanding, shriveling, expanding again, as she fought with herself for wanting him. He was an expert in mixing emotions like cocktails, blending them up and serving them with a flourish of sadness on top. It was his job.</p>
<p>It was his purpose.</p>
<p>In his pocket, his phone began to vibrate violently. He brought it out, glanced at the screen. Put it to his ear tentatively.</p>
<p>From the other end: "Where the hell are you?"</p>
<p>Wilbur flinched. "I'm on my way."</p>
<p>"You better be. Your set starts in five." There was a brief pause as the man on the other end--the notoriously aggressive owner of a little pub called Shanty's--took a breath to compose himself. "Stand me up again, Wilbur, and I'll be sure you pay."</p>
<p>"Understood. I'll be there in a sec." The line went dead; Wilbur sighed, pulling in a breath that felt heavy with asthma, pulling the phone away from his ear. He began to stand, using the fire escape railing to pull himself up.</p>
<p>"Where are you going?" asked the girl--it was quite awful that he couldn't remember her name. </p>
<p>He shrugged. "I've got a gig."</p>
<p>"Like a music gig? Can I come?" She stood as well, blond hair bobbing; her height was incredulously dwarfed in comparison to him. She barely reached his shoulder.</p>
<p>"I guess you can." Wilbur didn't exactly have a reason to tell her that she couldn't. </p>
<p>And she trailed him like a dog--a plague of his own power, his own Sin--all the way to Shanty's. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy her company. She was a very nice girl. </p>
<p>But she wasn't the One.</p>
<p>Wilbur pulled open the door to the pub and stepped inside. Almost immediately, he was met with the stench of cooking wings. The general clatter of customers enjoying themselves on a Friday night came upward to meet his ears. At the back of the pub, he saw a small stage, already set up and beckoning, almost scolding him for his tardiness. </p>
<p>"Wil!"</p>
<p>Wilbur turned in time to catch the owner of the bar--some burly man whose name was also unfathomably lost in Wilbur's horrid memory--striding up to him, hands on his hips. Around him, waitresses swerved with trays of wings, fries, draft beers. </p>
<p>"Sorry I'm late," Wilbur began, hesitant, awkward.</p>
<p>But, as people tended to when around Wilbur, the man's furrowed brow burst instead into something a tad softer, and all he said was, "That's alright. Just don't do it again."<br/>He gestured toward the stage. "You should probably go set up."</p>
<p>"Yeah," whispered the girl, still firmly attached to his shoulder. "Go bring the house down, babe."</p>
<p>Her voice was sultry. Sweet, and sickeningly so. Very suddenly, Wilbur felt as if he were going to hurl. </p>
<p>"Can I get some air, first?" He looked pleadingly to the bar owner. "I'm feeling a little ill."</p>
<p>The man's brow furrowed, but he stepped aside. "Sure. Be quick."</p>
<p>Wilbur flashed him a grateful smile, and peeled away from the girl, quickly darting through the various tables and stray feet towards the back of the establishment. As he did, the atmosphere of the place shifted ever so slightly. As he brushed past a couple at a table, the girl reached across and grasped her girlfriend's hand; they shared a glance that said they were grateful, something that was few and far between these days. At the bar, a man was possessed with the sudden urge to ask the woman he was with if she wanted to be his; they'd been friends for years, and he'd been in love with her for months. She smiled at him and mouthed the word that would change his life for the better. At the edge of the bar, a man sitting alone was suddenly overcome with his own loneliness and was reminded for no reason of the girl who'd broken his heart nearly three weeks ago. </p>
<p>And through it all Wilbur rushed, into the back hallway, throwing open the small metal door which spit him out into the bar's alleyway, into a night that was just as damp and broken as he remembered it being. </p>
<p>He stumbled to a stop, and let out a large breath of relief. He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling at his hair as he let himself decompress. It was harder these days to keep these overwhelming emotions at bay, especially when they tended to slosh and spill onto those around him. </p>
<p>He was tired of feeling like this.</p>
<p>"Are you okay?"</p>
<p>Wilbur's gaze had been trained on his feet, kicking around in the mud on the floor of the alley. At the sound of the voice, his head snapped up, and he found himself looking at a kid--for he couldn't have been more than 16 or 17--leaning easily against the alley's wall. The kid's blond hair was a mess, long and unkempt, and his t-shirt was smeared with dirt; mixed with something that could've been dried blood. </p>
<p>"I'm..." Wilbur started, then trailed off, as his eyes traveled downward. The kid's jeans were ripped in several places, his knees scabbed and bleeding. Wilbur felt his brow involuntarily furrowing (it was annoying, how open his book of thoughts was). "I'm fine," he finished finally. Then, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, "But what the hell happened to you?"</p>
<p>"Oh." The kid shrugged and gestured down at himself like his ruin was simply no big deal. "I fell."</p>
<p>Wilbur quirked an eyebrow. "You fell?"</p>
<p>"I fell, yeah." The kid shrugged, something flashing in his eyes. "I like your sweater."</p>
<p>"Oh. Thanks." Something in Wilbur's gut twisted as the kid continued to study him; there was somewhere he'd seen this child before. The familiarity lodged in the lines of the kid's face, in the way he held himself. Poised like he was always ready to run, always itching to get somewhere. Always wanting.</p>
<p>And it clicked as soon as Wilbur made to ask if he'd been around here before, if perhaps for some strange reason the kid had taken residence in Shanty's. </p>
<p>Slowly, Wilbur let his lips peel into an awed smile. "Greed."</p>
<p>The kid blinked, stunned. "You know me?"</p>
<p>Wilbur shook his head. "No. Well...don't we all know each other? In one way or another?" He gestured vaguely. "But what the fuck are you doing....here? You're..." Wilbur trailed off, biting his lip, stopping himself. He was suddenly overcome with another one of those emotions, a feeling of longing. But for what, he wasn't sure.</p>
<p>The kid smirked. "I'm what?"</p>
<p>"Well." Wilbur crossed his arms. "You don't exactly look like one of us, if you know what I mean."</p>
<p>"You didn't expect me to be so young." The kid pushed himself up off of the wall and crossed his arms. "I was 16 when.....well. You know." The kid quirked an eyebrow. "You don't look so old yourself, Lust."</p>
<p>Wilbur shrugged. "I was only 23." </p>
<p>The kid nodded, biting his lip. And like that, the glass between them shattered; Wilbur offered his hand, and the kid seized it. "You should probably call me Tommy," he said, and gave Wilbur one hell of a handshake.</p>
<p>"Wilbur." </p>
<p>"Good to meet you." Tommy grinned; it was one of those sideways-leaning slants, a grin that pitted a feeling of excitement into your gut.</p>
<p>"Good to meet you, too." Wilbur smiled, and unlike those he liked to flash the girls he brought home, this one was genuine. He could feel the strings attaching themselves to his heart, tugging at it lightly. "What's a kid like you doing in the alleyway of a pub on a Friday night?"</p>
<p>"Oh." And just like that, Tommy's easy nature was gone, replaced with something sinister, his mask of neutrality thinning greatly. "I'm running."</p>
<p>"From who?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no one. I mean....the police, but that shouldn't be a problem if I, you know, if I hide out long enough." Tommy shrugged, feigning confidence.</p>
<p>Laughter burst from Wilbur like a firework. "What on earth did you do?"</p>
<p>There was something deeper than what Tommy was putting forth; Wilbur could see through the boy like glass. He could see the his hungry eyes, wandering, searching but never finding. And as the question hung in the air, Wilbur felt his soul--as infinite as it was--wrapping itself around those eyes, those too-big feelings coming out to play once again.</p>
<p>He was reminded of a sister he had once, long ago. How protective he'd been of her. </p>
<p>How his heart was hardening in that same way now.</p>
<p>"You know what?" Wilbur smiled, stepping forward. "I'm running, too."</p>
<p>Tommy's brow furrowed. "What could you possibly be running from?"</p>
<p>Wilbur grinned, and it was the most genuine thing his lips had shaped themselves into in years. "A girl."</p>
<p>At that, Tommy laughed. "Shall we run together, then?"</p>
<p>"I think that'd be best." </p>
<p>Wilbur could still hear the clatter from inside the bar. He thought about his waiting stage, the dingy guitars Shanty's always provided for him when he forgot his own, how they always managed to remain just a touch out of tune, no matter how much he twisted the tuning pegs. He thought about the folding of the crowd and their emotions around him, and how tired he was of seeing loneliness and love come clashing together. He was the eye of some hurricane he never agreed to start. </p>
<p>He was so <i>tired</i>.</p>
<p>So when Tommy smirked and said, "I'll race ya," before taking off down the alleyway and away from the pub, Wilbur followed. He followed as fast as his long legs would carry him.</p>
<p>And they ran.</p>
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